


sometimes love is not enough (and the road gets tough)

by ForestBlue (forestblue)



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Autism Spectrum, Depression, F/F, One Shot, Sad Ending, it'll probably stay as a oneshot for the foreseeable future, please let me know if you need me to tag this with anything else
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-10-26 10:17:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10784832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forestblue/pseuds/ForestBlue
Summary: Clarke pushes, tries to get Lexa to come out of her shell. But Lexa falls, and she can't get back up.ORThe one where Clarke is an extrovert, and Lexa is autistic and introverted. Things can go wrong, and they do.





	sometimes love is not enough (and the road gets tough)

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, so, quick disclaimer: Don’t expect a happy ending. I’m in a bad place at the moment, doubting my worth as a writer and as a human being, and this is my vent piece. Clarke and Lexa are simply two characters that I’m familiar with, that I can use to express my feelings.
> 
> For now, it's just a one-shot that ends sadly (no one dies or anything, though). Maybe if I'll feel better later on sometime, I'll revisit this fic and add a second chapter where things get resolved and Clarke and Lexa get a happy ending (because I do want a happy ending for them). 
> 
> Still, for whoever reads this, I hope you enjoy it (as much as one can enjoy reading about emotional pain). Hit me up at forest-blue.tumblr.com if you want to talk about this story (or anything else).

She found her soulmate, and she lost her.

They met on an unassuming Friday night in sophomore year of college, at a party that Anya dragged Lexa to, trying to get her to relax and take a break from reading novels upon novels, researching history and culture and society until the early hours of the day.

Lexa was exhausted, both from studying and from being near so many strangers, a permanent knot present in her stomach making her feel uneasy. She ordered herself a drink to get her friend off her back and then retired into a dark corner of the bar, away from the speakers blaring loud, obnoxious music, and the hot, uncomfortable mass of sweaty bodies entangled with each other, “dancing”, as they put it. She sat there for minutes, or perhaps hours, lost in her own thoughts, when she saw a young blonde making her way over and sitting down on the floor next to Lexa.

She introduced herself as Clarke, and didn’t comment or seemed fazed when Lexa didn’t shake her offered hand, didn’t make it awkward. She asked Lexa about her major and her career goals, and then shared her own. Somehow, fifteen minutes in, they were no longer making small talk, but deeply engrossed in debating philosophical questions in _Frankenstein_. Clarke clearly knew what she was talking about, and seemed perfectly content with talking about literature with a strange girl, but Lexa was confused as to why a pretty girl like the art major would prefer sitting next to her on an uncomfortable floor instead of dancing and having fun with the rest of the student body. The answer she got was simple.

“Because I like you.”

And suddenly, Clarke changed the subject back to Frankenstein’s creature and his ploy for revenge. Lexa went with it. It was the most comfortable and engaging conversation she’d had in months, so she wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth, and instead just chose to enjoy it while it lasted.

To her astonishment, it didn’t end when she excused herself, too tired to continue the conversation, bones aching from sitting on the cold floor for too long. Clarke simply asked for her number, and Lexa complied, stunned at the thought of someone _actually_ wanting to keep in contact with her. She assumed Clarke was merely polite, and that she would forget about her by morning.

When Lexa woke up at 11am with a sore throat and an aching back, there was a text message waiting for her.

 _Good morning, sunshine! Hope the floor didn’t exact its revenge on you as much as it did on me_ _:P – Clarke, the art major who is also a giant nerd_

 

Their friendship bloomed from then on. Clarke kept texting Lexa random things, and the literature major found herself wanting to respond, enjoying both their casual conversations about what they’d eaten for lunch, and their serious contemplations of the stars and soulmates.

Lexa became concerned when she felt her heart beat differently in her chest when Clarke asked her if she believed in soulmates. She offered an evasive answer, suddenly more interested to hear what Clarke’s opinion was.

She’d read enough romance stories to know what was happening. She was developing feelings for Clarke, falling for the art major that brought color, light, a kind of buzzing energy into her life. She also knew that Clarke and she were better off just friends, so she allowed herself a repose from the girl by texting her an excuse about deadlines which she’d already met.

For a full weekend, she tried to empty her mind of Clarke, let the foolish notion of being with her go. But it was nearly impossible, when Clarke sent her pictures of kittens every few hours to “give her a break from studying”, when she sent good morning and good night texts, and a few messages peppered through the day in which the artist complained about her lack of inspiration, or the way the paint didn’t cooperate with her and didn’t mix properly, or that “trees are fucking hard to paint”.

She tried to let Clarke go and she failed, so she resigned herself to it, and just let things run their natural course. It was inevitable to fall for Clarke, she knew, when the bubbly blonde showed up in sweatpants at the end of the week bearing boxes of takeout, with a dazzling smile and plans for a Harry Potter marathon. She would fall, she _was_ falling for Clarke, and nothing could stop it. She was going to make the mistake of confessing it, Clarke would reject her, things would get awkward, and she’d lose the person she’d have grown accustomed to having in her life. It would be hard, but not impossible. If she survived Costia, she could survive Clarke.

But Clarke surprised her, just like she had done since their first meeting. One night, they were sitting on Lexa’s couch, watching some lame romantic comedy (Clarke had chosen that night) when suddenly, Clarke turned around and faced Lexa.

“Do you like me?” asked simply, as if knowing the answer already, a mere courtesy of allowing Lexa to admit it out loud.

“Yes.” Resolute, unwavering, devoted.

Clarke leaned in and kissed her.

 

 

They didn’t talk about what it meant for weeks. Things changed between them naturally: a greeting kiss, a parting one, soft touches here and there, cuddling during movie nights, and a couple of make-out sessions when the moon was high in the sky and they felt brave. They didn’t go on any official dates, but it felt like there wasn’t any need for dates, like the two of them knew each other well enough by that point, silent conversations passing between them in mere moments of eye contact.

Weeks later, during a particularly stressful week of finals, Clarke asked Lexa to be her girlfriend. Lexa agreed. It felt right, then, to kiss Clarke, to hoist her up and carry her to bed, to make love to her. No such terrifying word was spoken out loud by either of them, but Lexa was certain that Clarke knew.

 

 

Lexa stagnated. She graduated college and got a degree with honors, then proceeded to get stuck. She tried to write stories, coming up with new ideas for novels every month. But everything she wrote sounded like garbage to her ears, and she discarded it every time. Clarke was supportive, offering heartfelt compliments, reading through her work and admiring her world, her characters, even drawing sketches of particular scenes.

But something just didn’t _click_ for Lexa. It didn’t click while she worked on her first novel, it didn’t click while she tried to write the second, or the third, or the fourth. She got more frustrated as time went by, and started being more like her old self: hangouts with Raven and Octavia felt like a chore, conversations with them were stilted. She said the wrong things or said things at the wrong time, and tensions within Clarke’s friend group rose. They were all tiptoeing around Lexa, waiting for her to explode. But that wasn’t who Lexa was, she wasn’t the type to take out her frustrations on people, and Clarke knew, so she just wordlessly held her when she cried silently on particularly bad nights. Lexa tried, she really did, to get herself back up, but it just wasn’t working. She slowly retreated into herself, even in Clarke’s presence, not having the energy to deal with her girlfriend’s easy-going attitude while she felt like she was failing at the one thing she was supposed to be good at.

Clarke tried, too, she really did. She took Lexa to that quiet park where she sketched random trees and faces, passing the time in silence with Lexa, understanding that it was something the writer needed. She watched thrillers and other movies with intricate plots on movie night, hoping that Lexa would get inspired by something she saw. She didn’t push when Lexa was too exhausted to do anything more than sleep when they went to bed.

Months passed in that limbo, and Lexa could feel Clarke getting restless, impatient. She was failing as a writer and as a girlfriend, failing as a human being, and thinking about it just made her spiral deeper into depression. She knew it was her fault, it was because she wasn’t communicating properly with her girlfriend or with anyone else. She could see what it was all doing to Clarke, could see the sad dullness of her otherwise bright blue eyes; she’d noticed the dark bags under Clarke’s eyes, the explosion of dark colors and angry strokes on the artist’s canvas.

 

 

Lexa made a decision. She wasn’t getting any better like that, no matter how much Clarke tried to help, or how much she willed for it to work. She was broken, something inside her worked inherently differently than it was supposed to, and she was breaking Clarke, too. She had to end it, or else Clarke would be irreparably damaged herself, unable to function properly because of Lexa.

She took a piece of paper and wrote a small letter to Clarke, explaining her reasons, promising to always love her, hoping that the girl wouldn’t hate her, but understanding her if she did. She put her laptop in a bag, stuffed in a few of her favorite clothes, and was gone in the night.

She found a secluded place, somewhere she knew no one would find her, somewhere she wouldn’t be required or expected to be whole, where she didn’t need to speak more than a few words to anyone. She sat down to write. Maybe this time she would get it right.

_She found her soulmate, and she lost herself._


End file.
